


On My Way

by OtakuSapien



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff and Angst, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, Trans Hearthstone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuSapien/pseuds/OtakuSapien
Summary: After his father dies, Blitzen starts over with a whole new life. So far, he's not a fan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nerdfighterwhatevernumbers and luanna801 for beta reading, and thank you to moonlitwaterwriting for consulting on Hearth!

“Packing pretty light, eh kid?” The driver lifted Blitzen’s suitcase out of the trunk with a low grunt. “Didn’t you say you were moving?”

As much as Blitzen would have loved to try and squeeze all his worldly possessions into a single taxi, he couldn’t seem to call up the effort to pack more than a photo album and a few clothes. He’d stuffed some essentials—wallet, medicine, travel sewing kit—into his messenger bag as well, but he had a week to get everything else. 

Blitz tipped the driver and tried to parse out the feeling settling in his stomach as he looked at his new home. “Home” felt like the wrong word for it. It was one of his mother’s penthouse apartments, in a building she technically owned but almost never visited. It was at least twenty stories high, with over-designed accents and what he was pretty sure were gargoyles on the upper floors. In the overcast morning light, Blitzen couldn’t quite tell if the building was beige or a faded pink. Knowing Freya, probably the latter.

The lobby was as over-decorated as the outside. It was an onslaught of bright oranges, reds, and yellows. Fake plants in fall colors surrounded the walls, every flat surface decorated with gourds, and—of course—an ornate chandelier lit up the room.

 The warm yellow light coming from it didn’t hurt his eyes as much as expected, which was comforting if the rest of the building was the same. It had been built almost a century ago, and when Freya had decided to take on the pet project of restoring it, she’d wanted to keep the old fashioned style as much as possible (though her lack of architectural knowledge lead to a more general “old fashioned” theme than any particular design). Blitz dreaded what the lobby might look like at Christmas.

He walked up to the desk and rang the bell. After a minute, Blitzen considered ringing the bell a second time when an old man in a wheelchair rolled out of a door behind the counter and eyed Blitz curiously.

“What do you want?” said the old man.

Blitz took a deep breath before putting on what Dad called his “Business Smile.” 

“Hello, Sir. I’m moving into the penthouse and need a copy of the key.”

The man looked at him for about three seconds before throwing his head back in laughter. “Yeah right, kid. What are you, nineteen?”

Blitz gritted his teeth but kept his smile in place. “I’m fifteen, actually.” Sixteen in less than a month, but rounding up didn’t seem worth it. The old man continued to laugh. It probably wasn’t every day a high-schooler showed up first thing in the morning and said he was moving into a $400,000 apartment.

“Look, kid,” he said, wiping away a tear, “Even if you’ve got money there’s no way. The penthouse belongs to the owner, and as much as it would amuse me, she’d have my head if she found out.”

“Yes, Freya Njordsdotter. I’m her son.” Blitz expected the man to laugh again. Instead he raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so? She didn’t call about you.”

Blitz sighed. Of course she forgot. No matter how many times she promised. He rubbed his temples in frustration. “Yeah. That sounds like Freya.”

The man let out a short, harsh laugh.

 “Sounds like you really do know her,” he cackled. “But I’m going to need ID before I let you go anywhere.”

The old man continued to chuckle under his breath as Blitzen dug for his wallet. _I must be making this guy’s day_ , Blitzen thought in mild annoyance. The man must not get a lot of entertainment as a building manager.

He held up a copy of his old school ID, _Blitzen Freyason_ typed across the front in bold blue letters next to his picture.

The man took it, shaking his head. “The things rich people name their kids. Though I’m not one to talk.” He tapped his name tag with a long, sharp fingernail. _Mimir_ , it read.

 “I think I saw you once when you were a baby,” Mimir said as he started doing something on his computer. Probably checking that the ID wasn’t a fake. “You’ll forgive me for not recognizing you.”

 “It’s fine,” Blitz said, ignoring the sarcasm. He was used to overly fake niceties from Freya’s associates. Sarcasm was almost refreshing.

Mimir finished with the computer and handed the ID back to Blitzen. “Stay right here. I’m going to check in with Freya and get you the spare key.”

 Mimir rolled back in twenty minutes and several barely muffled curses later, looking exhausted. Blitz knew the feeling.

“Five tries to get through,” Mimir grumbled, “All she has to do is answer ONE yes or no question, and she starts going off about ‘fashion week.’” Blitzen could hear the air quotes as he rattled on. “One of these days I’m just going to hang up on her. When I retire, I’m not stupid. She doesn’t like me _that_ much.”

The man slapped the key on the counter and eyed Blitz again.

“I should have known you were her kid,” he said, a spot of begrudging affection in his voice. “You look like her. Don’t make that face, I mean it.”

Blitz found that hard to believe. Freya was tall and slim, with wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and milky skin. She looked like a fairy princess out of a picture book—but better dressed.

Blitzen, meanwhile, was stocky and broad, short and dark, with his father’s brown eyes, natural hair, and more facial hair than the average teenager. Blitzen had all of Freya’s style, but that’s where the similarities ended. If she was a fairy princess, he was a dwarf from Lord of the Rings—but better dressed.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Blitzen took the key and rolled his suitcase toward the elevator.

Normally he might chat more, but it was barely eight A.M. and he was already exhausted. And he definitely didn’t feel like talking about Freya. The only thing he wanted to do was crash the second he found a bed.

When he unlocked the apartment door, he was relieved to find the room was less gaudy than the lobby, and mildly horrified to see the wall of windows and skylight in the living area.

Freya had insisted he live here, but evidently forgot to make accommodations for him.

 What faint light came through the bleary morning sky reflected off a big screen television across from the sleek white couch, with matching chairs that would provide a perfect view of the garden on the balcony in spring. He’d have to make blackout curtains.

Blitz sighed, leaving his suitcase by the door in search of a bedroom.

There were two hallways branching off on either side of the room. He picked one at random and hoped for the best. The first door on the right was a half-bath with plain tiled walls and flooring. It was so plain, Blitzen was sure Freya had never set foot in it.

On the other side of the hall was the master bedroom, with a lavish queen sized canopy bed made up in rich jewel tones, with gold painted furniture and plush pink carpeting.  Normally he liked color, but this made him itch to grab his sunglasses.

 The master bath was bigger than his childhood bedroom. Like the previous room, all the furniture was gilded. Blitzen found himself wondering why someone needed a separate tub and shower. If she wanted both, did they really need to be separate? And was the marble fountain _really_ necessary?

He looked back at the bed. The plush mattress, the huge, warm blankets, the half dozen pillows embroidered with Siamese cats—he was so tired. The faint scent of Freya’s perfume lingered from the vanity.

Blitzen covered himself with his coat as he fell sleep on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the class was talking and laughing and playing keep-away with some kid’s cell phone while Hearth stared at the clock. He’d made a habit of staring at the clock every morning so he’d know when class was actually about to start. It was right above the door and he could tell when the teacher walked in, which was almost always well after homeroom had already begun. None of the other students ever bothered to alert him if he was in the middle of something else, and Mrs. Freedman had accosted him more than once for doing homework or reading during  class instead of paying attention. Not like she could have tapped him on the shoulder when she got there or anything. That would require her to pay attention to him.

He'd written her countless notes asking to be put at the front of the classroom, even typed some hoping she’d take them more seriously, but she always ignored them after the first line.

“In my classroom, you follow my rules. We adhere to my seating chart, no exceptions, and no special treatment.”

He’d gotten very good at reading those words.

Hearth had asked Odin to plea-bargain for him, but Odin insisted he’d make up for it. When he was there. Which he usually wasn’t. This time it was a weeklong conference in California on “The Importance of Support for Students with Disabilities.”

Odin had insisted on practicing his presentation on Hearth for days. Odin was a pretty good aide when he was there, so he didn’t mind. It’s not like anyone else made much effort to talk to him. What he did mind was how Odin could spend hours on a well-crafted PowerPoint about helping kids like him, yet somehow not realize the irony in leaving Hearth to fend for himself every other week.  

It was almost quarter-after now and their teacher, Mrs. Freedman, still hadn’t arrived. Hearth saw several students poised on the edge of their seats, packing up their bags and watching the clock intently in the hope their teacher would be deemed late enough to cancel class.

Hearth had to stifle a laugh when Mrs. Freedman walked through the door at 8:14 and the entire class collectively threw their hands up, tossed their heads back, or slammed their faces on their desks in exaggerated disappointment.

Mrs. Freedman glared at them before quickly plastering on a stiff smile that was probably meant to be polite. It looked more like she had recently learned about the concept of smiling and decided to try it out for the first time. The stiffness in her expression made it hard to read her lips, but from the person with her, Hearth could guess what she was saying.

Standing in the doorway was a young man, taking in the room with curious eyes. He waved nervously at the class when Mrs. Freedman gestured to him, and though his facial hair made him seem older, he didn’t look like an adult.

_ New kid _ was written clear as day on the poor guy’s face. He gave a small smile as he looked at the class politely, but avoided eye contact with anyone. He was standing too straight, and while he held his head up high, he was trying to hide shaking hands. Hearth could see the detached curiosity on everyone’s faces as they openly stared. With this crowd, he didn’t blame the guy. Prep school kids were vicious.

Hearthstone let himself look at the new kid a little too long and realized he’d missed Mrs. Freedman’s actual introduction.

Wait, did she just say his name?

And why was she pointing at-

No. Oh no.

Hearthstone couldn’t stop himself from staring as the new kid walked straight toward him and plopped down in Odin’s empty chair. He turned to Hearthstone and offered his hand. Hearth stared at it briefly before shaking it. The boy smiled brightly at him, like he’d just been given a present. Hearth had just acquired a new neighbor. And to his dismay, he was friendly.

* * *

 

Blitzen didn’t know what he’d expected his first day of private school. Freya had let him choose his school, but the only thing he cared about at the time was that there were no uniforms. He had picked it from a list of schools Freya’s assistant had provided and hadn’t considered it since. Now he wished he had.

After a blustery and very disorienting meeting with the guidance counselor—a large, hairy man whose advice seemed to consist solely of  _ Game of Thrones _ quotes—he was left more confused than ever. He’d been given information, but he hardly had any idea what to do with it. Most of it was either abstract (“Chaos is a ladder!”), or inside jokes about the staff that the counselor kept laughing to himself about.  He was given a schedule and a map and brushed out the door before he could ask any questions.  

The building was lavish in a way that straddled the line between “classic masterpiece” and “please be impressed by us.” High ceilings, marble floors, ornately carved wooden archways. Everything looked old yet pristine, polished to shine. Even the door to the janitor’s closet was beautiful. The wrought iron banisters had curling branches with the school crest in the center that reminded Blitzen of something his dad once made.

Blitzen was suddenly hit by how foreign this world was. It made him itch, like his body was mad at him for making it be there. He was relieved to find out his homeroom teacher would be meeting him in the lobby because if she hadn’t, he was convinced he would have gotten lost, even with the map.

One good thing: there were UV filters on all the windows.

Blitzen hadn’t even thought to check for that. Never considered a school might have anything like it. His teacher mentioned it offhandedly on the way to homeroom and he’d had to restrain himself. No gloves in class, no long sleeves in summer, no weird looks when he applied sunscreen indoors. He’d nearly cried. Between his teacher and the windows, he was starting to feel better. He was even more relieved to see his classroom looked pretty much like a normal classroom.

That all drained out of him as soon as he stepped in the room. Blitzen didn’t mind attention, but this was different. His mind was empty as he greeted the class and took everyone in, their eyes all on him. His classmates looked like every terrifying stereotype he’d ever heard about rich private school kids. Although, he was a rich private school kid, too, now.

Blitzen barely listened as the teacher pointed him to the only open seat in the classroom. He was sat next to a pale, thin boy with hair so blond it looked almost white. The boy was wearing all black, which if anything made him look paler.  

“Hi,” he extended his hand, “I’m Blitzen.”

The boy looked blandly at his hand before taking it, then let go and faced forward without a word. Blitzen decided to take this as a good sign.

By the time he turned to the board, the teacher had already launched into a lecture about symbolism in  _ The Stranger _ by Albert Camus. Crap.

“Um, Mrs. Freedman?” he asked.

She stopped and glared at his raised hand like it was a personal affront.

“In my class,” she said, “we do not interrupt our teacher, Mr. Freyason. You will wait until called upon before speaking.”

“But Ma’am,” he said, “I can’t understand the lesson. I haven’t read the book.” Several of his classmates giggled. Apparently they hadn’t, either. 

“Then you will have to catch up to the rest of the class before tomorrow, won’t you?”

Blitzen felt his face go hot as she continued writing, keeping her back to him. Her message was clear: the issue was over and he wasn’t to ask again. 

He looked around at the other students. Most of them were preoccupied with writing notes or playing with unsubtly hidden phones. The pale boy next to him was staring intently at the board, but not writing anything. Maybe he was an auditory learner?

Blitzen bit his lip as  he thought. He could suck it up and take notes, but he had no idea what Mrs. Freedman was talking about. She was going on about the sun and human nature. He didn’t want to get called out twice in his first class, and he expected if she wasn't willing to catch him up, she wouldn't go easy on him for not knowing the answers. 

He quickly scribbled in his notebook, then tapped the pale boy on the arm. The boy nearly jumped. He thankfully didn’t say anything to draw the teacher’s attention, his glare replaced with surprised confusion. Blitz slid his notebook over and tapped the page softly. The boy continued to regard him strangely. Blitzen had to contain a sigh of relief when he finally looked at the page.

_ Can I borrow your notes? _

Blitzen barely had to wait for a response.

_ No.  _

The rest of the page was blank and he hadn’t written a thing since the lecture started. Maybe he didn’t have any to borrow.  He’d been glaring a hole through the teacher’s head, maybe he just really hated the book. Blitz could ask someone else, but his other neighbors weren’t even paying attention, and if he waited until the end of class it might be too late, and the teacher had moved on to something about Algeria for some reason and there was no way he could follow along at this point and the names on the board made no sense to him and he just wanted to get through his first day without already feeling like a failure.

Blitz must have looked as lost as he felt because the boy sighed softly and continued writing.

_ I need it to talk _ , he explained. 

Blitzen was tempted to raise an eyebrow, even though he knew he couldn’t do it.

_ Because we’re in class _ ? he wrote. They weren’t supposed to be talking, at least, despite all the unsubtle texters.

The boy seemed to be suppressing another sigh.

_ Because my aide isn’t here _

Blitz looked up at him. The boy indicated his ear.  _ Oh. _

Now he felt silly for asking. He probably should have considered that. There had been a few deaf students at his last school, but the kids he knew all had hearing aids or cochlear implants. Maybe that was why he hadn’t thought of it? Or maybe he was overthinking this.

Mrs. Freedman had started in on existentialism and was talking about some philosopher Blitzen had never heard of. She was covering half her notes with her body as she wrote, making it impossible for Blitzen to follow along just by copying them.

The boy was still looking at him, but he didn’t seem to expect anything. He seemed…curious? Blitzen scribbled another message.

_ Does she know they’re not here?  _ he wrote.

_ Yes _ , the boy wrote back.

Blitzen remembered the way he had been looking at the teacher. Angry, but also tired. Like he was resigned to it. 

Oh. So that’s the kind of school this would be.

He flipped to a new page and started writing furiously. He was writing bits and pieces he didn’t understand, but he’d puzzle it out later. Blitzen struggled to get as much of the board as he could while keeping an ear out for anything Mrs. Freedman wasn’t writing down. He missed half an argument about post-colonial theory (whatever that was) with a girl in the front row while trying to copy a section that was half erased. He tried to use a legible shorthand instead of writing everything out, making sure his hand wasn’t smearing the wet ink as he went, and quietly patting himself on the back for all that time he’d spent practicing penmanship.

When he heard other kids’ bags rustling, he looked at the clock. Three minutes until the bell. His neighbor had gone back to staring at the board and had only gotten a few lines of notes down.

While their teacher scolded the kids packing their things away already, Blitzen tapped the boy on the arm. He pointed to the three words he had written at the very top, neatly underlined in blue pen.

_ This is bull. _

Underneath that was as much of Mrs. Freedman’s verbal lecture as he could get. He’d written notes from the board as well, both for himself and just in case. His neighbor scanned the page.

_? _

_ I’m sharing _

The other boy raised an eyebrow. Dang. No fair.

_ I’m Blitzen, _ he wrote. He held out the notebook. He wouldn’t get much out of it until he read the book anyway. One of them might as well use it.

The boy was blank-faced as he responded. Blitzen had to stifle a laugh as he read.

_ I thought you were Sharing? _

It was such a stupid joke, honestly. All the comments he could make about “Dad Jokes.” But it really was exactly the kind of joke his dad used to tell. His eyes darted to their teacher, hoping she hadn’t heard him. When he looked back, the boy had written again.

_ Hearthstone _

Blitzen looked up and met the boy’s—Hearthstone’s—eyes. He smiled.

_ Nice to meet you _

Hearthstone took the notebook and slid it into a messenger bag. In his own notebook, he wrote,  _ Thanks _

The bell rang. Half the students rose while the other half listened patiently to Mrs. Freedman’s declarations of authority over the bell. Blitzen started to gather his own things when he felt a light tug on his sleeve.

Still blank-faced, avoiding eye contact, Hearthstone pointed to another message in his notebook.

_ Sit w/ us at lunch? _

Blitzen felt something leap in his stomach. He had no idea who “us” was, but that didn’t seem to matter. He might have just made a friend.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding maybe a little too much, “Yes, absolutely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to nerdfighterwhatevernumbers and luanna801 for beta reading, and thank you to moonlitwaterwriting for consulting on Hearthstone!  
> Also thanks to everyone who's given feedback so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Blitzen kept getting lost in the school’s winding halls throughout the day. By the time found the cafeteria the line for food was wonderfully short, but the tables were almost completely full. 

Thankfully, Hearthstone’s white-blond hair against all black clothes made him easy to spot in the crowd. He was sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. Weaving through the chaos of a hundred starving teenagers, Blitzen made his way over.

The chairs directly next to Hearthstone were empty, but a space down there were a few other kids at the same table who appeared to be having an animated discussion over a board game and several pairs of sparkly dice. 

Blitzen took the seat across from Hearthstone, smiling when he was greeted with a nod.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. 

He was about two bites into his whole wheat pasta—which was just as plastic and tasteless as public school lunch had been—when he noticed it was suddenly quieter. The kids next to them had stopped playing their game and were looking at him.

“Uh, hi,” he waved at them weakly. This was at least the fourth time he’d been stared at that day. He told himself he should be used to it by now. It didn’t help. “I’m Blitzen. Freyason. You can call me Blitz.”

A boy one seat over from Blitzen repeated the name under his breath. The boy was white, with brown hair, glasses, and an ill-fitting lime polo shirt that made Blitzen’s hands twitch with the urge to fix it.

“Freyason,” the boy repeated. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” said Blitzen. Blitzen had an idea of where he was going with this. He hoped the dread didn’t come out in his voice. 

“Are you two a thing?” the boy asked, pointing between him and Hearthstone.

Blitzen had no idea where he was going with this.

“What? No, we just met,” said Blitzen, baffled.

The kid nearest Hearthstone, an Asian girl with asymmetrical bangs, tapped Hearthstone on the shoulder and pointed at Blitz. He made three quick signs at her and she nodded in understanding.

“He’s new,” she told the others.

“I feel like we should get him a cake or something,” said the girl next to her. She had long, thick dark hair that fell into her eyes.

“For being new?” asked Blitzen.

“Not you. Hearth,” the girl said, jabbing her thumb at the man in question. “We think this is the first time he’s made a friend of his own free will. Which is probably why Sky thought you might be a thing.”

“It could happen!” Sky protested. “He doesn’t tell us anything about his personal life. Tell me I’m not the only one who’s curious.”

“Why was us dating your first guess?” Did they really think their friend would just show up with a boyfriend they had never met before?

“Well, I mean,” Sky started, “the last time someone new sat with us was when Sachi and Blake started dating.”

To demonstrate his point, the kid next to Hearth stretched to put an arm around the long haired girl, kissing her forehead. It gave Blitz a chance to notice a green “They/Them” pin secured to their denim vest.

_ Thank gods I found the other queer kids on the first day. _

Sky gave him an uncomfortable look as—Sachi?—threw their head back, laughing. Hearth raised an eyebrow at them like he’d missed something.

“That was out loud, wasn’t it,” said Blitzen.

“Yes. Yes it was,” Blake said with a smirk.

“We just keep finding each other, don’t we?” said the freckly kid next to Sky, who hadn’t spoken until that point. 

A baby-faced goth at the end of the table grumbled, “See, I’m not the only one who does the ‘gods’ thing.”

Blitzen thought of Sky’s reaction. “Is that word okay with you guys?” 

“So long as you don’t use it for me, I’m fine,” Sky said, shrugging. “That’s how Sachi identifies.”

“That’s the best word I got,” Sachi said. “It’s easier than going: ‘Eh’.” They shrugged and made a noncommittal hand gesture.

Hearthstone looked at Blitzen with a question.

“Oh, wait,” he said. Blitz reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook. He decided to keep it short and wrote,  _ I’M GAY _ across the page in big letters.

He held it up to show Hearthstone. Hearth took a second to register the words before his mouth twitched in a slight grin. His face scrunched up, wrinkling his nose. It was kind of adorable. When Blitzen turned back to the others, they were staring again.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” Blake said hesitantly. “That’s the most we’ve ever seen him smile.”

Sachi signed something to Hearth. Whatever it was, they got an eye roll in return. 

“Can we please get back to the game now?” whined the goth kid. “I’ve been working on this campaign for three months.” 

“Let us be friendly to the new kid for ten minutes, Phoenix,” said Blake. “The Caves of Pandering can wait.” 

“Caves of Pondering,” Phoenix corrected. The quiet kid next to Sky gave Phoenix a sympathetic pat on the arm. 

“We should introduce ourselves if we’re being so friendly. Poppy Iglesias. She and her, by the way. ” Poppy had dark brown hair, round glasses, and dark freckles on light brown skin. She extended a hand. Blitzen shook it.

“He and him,” Blitzen responded. This was the first time he’d heard someone casually introduce themselves with pronouns. He couldn’t imagine someone doing that at his old school. “So do you guys belong to a student LGBT group or…?” 

“Pfft. No,” Phoenix snorted. “Our school doesn’t have one. This just kind of happened.”

“We started hanging out because of D and D,” Sky said. “No idea if there’s a correlation.”

“Well  _ I _ firmly believe Dungeons and Dragons makes you gay,” said Sachi.

“Nah, I was gay waaay before Roland Silverwater existed,” Blake said with a dismissive hand wave. 

“And now he knows your character’s full name before yours. Introductions?” Poppy reminded. 

“Ugh, fine,  _ Mom _ ,” said Blake, not without affection. “Blakeyn Moncreif, Sophomore, Sachi’s girlfriend, service number 5678.”

“Service numbers have more than four digits,” Sky frowned.

“I’ll remember that for my next APUSH test. Babe?” 

“Sachiko McCulley,” they said. 

“Schuyler Millhouse Wright.” He held out his hand to Blitzen. 

“Is that your middle name, or a hyphenated last name?” Blizten asked. Sky didn’t strike him as particularly formal. It seemed odd he’d use his full name.

“He does that on purpose,” Sachi said, grinning evilly. “He hopes the ‘Millhouse’ will distract from the pun.”

Sky glared at them.

“What pun? Oh.” _ Sky Wright.  _

“No wonder people at this school don’t flinch at ‘Blitzen,’” he said. 

Barely a moment later, two girls appeared next to him out of nowhere. One was clutching a pair of magazines, and the other was trying to hold back a fit of giggles. 

“I’m sorry, did I hear you say your name is Blitzen?” The girl with the magazines said. She said it with a too high, over-stressed tone on ‘sorry’ that hurt his ears. He looked at the others and most of them had inched away slightly. Always a good sign. 

Hearthstone had stopped poking absentmindedly at his food, his eyes going back and forth between the girls and Blitzen.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Oh my gosh, I knew it!” cried the girl, ignoring his question. Her friend giggled behind her. “Blitzen Freyason! We knew that name right away, I mean it’s not like there are a lot of Blitzens but _ Freyason _ -” she stopped to screech- “I just knew it! We are huge fans!”

She slapped her magazines down on the table. Sure enough, Freya’s pictured stared up at him in all its airbrushed glory. 

The girl continued talking as her friend bounced on her heels excitedly.  She was going so fast Blitzen wasn’t sure she was breathing. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“-seen every interview with her and all her old pictures are AMAZING, she doesn’t have one bad photo, and now she has her own COMPANY, I mean, GOALS. And her SON, we are so lucky, this is amazing. I WISH Freya were my mom, that would so cool. It must be so cool. I’d do everything in fashion just like her. Do you do fashion like her? I mean it’s different since you’re a boy, but OHmygosh she would be the coolest mom. My mom’s a lawyer and- bleh, no thanks. But a fashion empire, that is a DREAM. Do you get to see her work? We would love to see her work up close. You live with her now, right? That must be amazing. What’s it like living with her? Is it true she never wears the same outfit twice? You didn’t live with her before, right? I don’t know why you wouldn’t, I mean, talk about a dream life.  Why now?”

Blitzen turned to stone. The girl stopped to breath, looking at him eagerly for a response, and Blitzen fixed her with an icy stare.

“My dad died.”

The girl faltered. “Oh.” 

Her friend’s face fell as well. 

The other girl had the decency to look ashamed before saying, “I’msosorry,” and dragging her stunned, now silent, friend away as quickly as she could.

A touch on his arm jarred him back. It was Heartstone.He signed something.

“When?” Sachi translated, voice sympathetic.

“Two weeks ago,” Blitzen said. He kept looking at Hearthstone. He didn’t think he could take seeing the others’ faces right then. Hearth nodded solemnly and moved his fist in a circular motion in front of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Sachi translated, but Blitzen felt like he already understood. 

“We’re all sorry,” they said.

“Yeah.” Blitzen went back to eating his now cold plastic food. “Me, too.”

 

The rest of lunch was thankfully uneventful.

After a few awkward minutes of everyone eating in silence and Blitzen feeling uncomfortable stares on him, Phoenix eventually got the others back into their game and they began playfully jeering and pestering one another. Blitzen was grateful for that. He’d had enough of people telling him how sorry they were and how awful it must be and refusing to act normal around him. It was bad enough at the funeral with people he barely knew crying at him and calling him “poor boy” for hours. Sometimes it was like people thought he was in a bubble where joy wasn’t allowed. Like they would offend him if they expressed anything other than sympathy or grief for someone they hadn’t known existed an hour ago. 

By the time the bell rang, everyone else had already packed up and was stampeding out the doors.  Blitzen took his time with his things, not wanting to deal with the rush. A few of the kids he sat with waved and called goodbye as they joined the crowd. Hearthstone got up shortly after.

“Wait!” called Blitzen, before remembering Hearth couldn’t hear him.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and jogged to catch up, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.

“Hey,” he said, placing his hand on Hearth’s arm. “I’m sorry we didn’t really get to talk. Thanks for inviting me.”

Hearth had read his lips when he spoke to those girls earlier. Blitzen hoped that would be enough right now. 

“It means a lot. Really.” Hearth nodded in response. Blitz wasn’t sure how to take that. He didn’t look particularly happy, but he didn’t look annoyed, either. Blitzen remembered what Blake had said about not seeing him smile. 

He kept talking, trying not to make this awkward. If it wasn’t already.

“Would it be...would it be okay if I sat with you again tomorrow?” he asked hesitantly.

Hearth gave him a blank stare. No, not entirely blank. His eyes seemed to say “Well that’s a stupid question,” as he shrugged. He walked out the door and in the opposite direction before Blitzen could ask what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. My computer was broken for a couple of months, then work stuff and personal life got in the way. Thank you for being patient!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been so patient, and thank you for the encouraging comments!

Blitzen was kicking himself half the way to metal shop.

He’d wanted to ask Hearth more questions, but he didn’t read sign language, and asking for a phone number after they’d been mistaken for a couple had too many implications.

Blitz rushed through the door just as the bell rang. An actual bell. He had never heard a high school use an actual bell before. The school was too new for them to be a historical part of the building; Blitzen guessed whoever designed the place thought bells were classier.

Before he could find an open seat, a flailing arm caught his attention. Sachi waved him over to their work bench, a mischievous smile on their face.

He took up a stool and joined them, brushing metal shavings off the table to set down his bag.  

“Thanks,” said Blitzen. “Do you know what we’re doing today?”

Sachi was bouncing their leg up and down rapidly, eyes flitting between Blitzen and the clock.

“Whatever you want,” they said. “We get the safety and equipment talk first day, then we have the rest of the semester work on projects we design ourselves. Oh, and you have to write a paper.”

Blitzen looked around the room. If there was one word to describe it, it was “gray.” There were windows lining the high ceiling, heavy clouds still hovering in the sky.  All the benches were on one half, facing an empty desk by the door. The back half held large equipment and was mostly covered in protective sheets. Most of the lights on the equipment side were turned off so it was hard to see exactly what was there. The cabinets and lockers were all a dull, painted metal, the floor looked like plain concrete. There was a fine layer of dust and grime that would get all over his shoes and under his fingernails. The smell of burning and copper hung in the air. It made his stomach ache at the familiarity.

Sachi jumped in excitement as a teacher walked in, slamming a gallon sized coffee mug on the desk and waving them off as he tossed a ring of keys to a curly haired kid in the front row. The kid hopped up and everyone followed suit, not even bothering to wait for the teacher to take attendance. He began what seemed like a practiced routine as he flicked on the lights, unlocked the cabinets, and got to work uncovering each machine in turn.

The other students busied themselves at the wall of lockers, taking out projects and raw materials of various colors and sizes.

“Heads up!” Sachi called.

Blitzen fumbled to catch what appeared to be a pool noodle taped around a PVC pipe, hitting himself in the head and the kneecap at the same time. They were holding a crudely shaped sheet of metal and carrying planks of wood under their arm.

“Wanna help me test this?” they said. They set the wood down and held the warped, dented sheet of metal in front of them.

“Uh,” said Blitzen, “What am I supposed to do?”

Sachi rolled their eyes. “Hit me as hard as you can. Obviously.”

They held their shield up in front of them, eagerly waiting. It leaned heavily to one side and Sachi was holding it up by its edge, the metal digging into their hand.

“Is there even a strap on that?” Blitzen asked.

“I made it out of duct tape!” said Sachi, face lit up with excitement. “Come on, dude, no one else will help me test it.”

“Because you’d obviously get hurt?” he said.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It kind of is.”

“Well how am I supposed to learn what to fix if we don’t test it?”

Blitzen hesitated. “Okay, just...don’t have your hand there when I hit it? I don’t want to cut you.”

They adjusted the shield accordingly and planted their feet. “Make it quick. It won’t stay up long.”

He could already hear the duct tape beginning to peel. Against his better judgement, he hoisted the foam bat and swung at the shield. There was an explosive bang as it crashed to the floor, bent nearly in half from where the bat hit it.

“What the heck!” Sachi cried, shaking their arm out and glaring.

“You told me to hit it as hard as I can!” said Blitzen. “What is that thing made out of, tin foil?”

“What are _you_ made of, adamantium?” They cradled the remains of their project like a fallen comrade. “This pure silver.”

Blitzen nearly dropped his bat. “And you put duct tape on it?!”

“It’s all I had,” Sachi said defensively.

“Why are you making a school project out of silver?” asked Blitzen, eyes nearly popping out of his skull at the thought.  He had almost forgotten that Sachi was just as much of a rich kid as everyone else at this school.

“Dude, a silver shield? Tell me you wouldn’t want that.”

“Uh, no, actually,” Blitzen said, trying not to do the math of how much the poor shield must have cost, or how bad the metal looked even before he broke it. “Silver is pretty malleable. Steel or iron would be more useful.”

“Hmph. Well, yeah, but malleable means it’s easier to shape, right?” Sachi hefted the broken shield onto their work bench. “I figured if I picked an easier metal, it’d go quicker.”

They gazed at the other students, who were making everything from a tiara to a unicycle, and what appeared to be an armadillo made of horseshoes. Most of them were near complete. Sachi’s hunk of metal was looking even sadder.

“It’s not that bad,” Blitzen said. “And if you’re stuck, you could always make something different, right?”

Sachi shook their head. “Not really. Our papers are worth a lot of our grade. I already did most of my research on the history of medieval weaponry, and on top of my AP classes, I don’t have time to find a new topic.”

“Maybe you just need to start from scratch, rework the design first,” Blitzen reassured them. “Figure out a strap that will work, make it a bit thicker. You can use an iron base and have silver on the front for decoration if you still want.”

“Hmm, maybe…” they said. “You sound pretty confident, Blitz. You do this kind of thing often?”

“I don’t usually make melee weapons, but sometimes, yeah,” he said. “My dad owned a shop where he did custom work and I helped out.”

Sachi’s face fell at the mention of his dad, remembering the horrifically awkward lunch encounter as their eyes filled with pity. _Please don’t look at me like that._

“So you know sign language?” Blitzen said, latching onto the first thing he could think of to change the subject.

“Yeah, some.” Sachi seemed just as relieved at the shift in conversation. “My uncle’s deaf. He married in, so I only started learning around, what, eighth grade? I’m not fluent, but I can hold a conversation okay. I think I managed to talk to Hearth for ten minutes once. I got lost when we started talking about magic.”

“Like the game you were playing?” asked Blitzen.

“No, like actual magic. He’s not into gaming. He likes that old school occult stuff. But not in a creepy way,” Sachi added quickly. “If he’s not eating or doing homework, he usually spends his lunch reading about Stonehenge or something. At least when Odin’s not there.”

“Odin?”

“Hearth’s aide. Big old guy with a beard. He interprets for him in class and stuff. Odin’s out a lot, and I’m the only one who kind-of-knows ASL, so he mostly reads. We’ve asked him if he wants to join our campaign before, but nah.” They shrugged as if to say, _What else can you do?_ Before turning back to their project.

“The campaign’s one of the reasons I wanted to make the shield," Sachi sighed. "Blake’s character name is Silverwater, right? So I thought I’d make a shield for him, and if it turned out okay it could be her Christmas present.”

They pushed away from the hunk of metal, gesturing to it in defeat. “Looks like that’s not gonna happen.”

Sachi had been so excited when class started, Blitzen found it hard to watch them now. He knew what it was like to be so inspired for a new project, then have nothing turn out how it was in your head. That time he tried to make a fashionable waterproof three-piece suit? Gods, he’d been so frustrated he broke his sewing machine and almost tore up all his sketchbooks.

Blitzen went to the nearest storage cabinet and grabbed hammers, pliers, a box of nails, and whatever else he could carry that might come in handy. He put the assortment down in front of Sachi and handed them a pair of safety goggles.

“Tell you what,” said Blitzen, strapping on his own goggles, “if I help you with this project, you can teach me ASL in exchange. What do you say?”

Sachi stared at him a moment, then their face lit up.

“Deal!” they said, shaking his hand. Blitzen grinned as they examined their workspace with renewed enthusiasm.

"Promise me one more thing?" said Blitzen.

"Yeah, what?" asked Sachi.

"Please don't use any more duct tape on precious metals."


End file.
